Kingside Bishop: A Consecution of Fortuitous Happenstances
by TheAberrantInkwell
Summary: Or, Book I: Childhood. The wizards got a little confused and accidentally left Harry on the doorstep of Dr. Anthony Bishop, who of course decides that he would be a better family than the Dursleys. Renamed Matthew Bishop and moved to the US, Harry's life will definitely be different. Eventually features blind!Matthew. First installment of the Kingside Bishop series.
1. Chapter 1

A cat sat outside Number 5, Privet Drive. It was a very purposeful cat, a tabby with intelligent eyes and a strict demeanour that demanded the utmost respect—even if it was just a cat, and even if it was pouring down rain. But it wasn't just a cat and it wasn't simply passing through Little Whinging on a search for food scraps and small animals; no, it was there with a purpose and it was there commanding respect in that wet, stuck up little neighbourhood and it was certainly not there to hunt.

It was also outside the wrong house.

So it had happened that when Albus Dumbledore had informed her of his intent to leave their small saviour with his aunt and uncle he had also admitted that he wasn't exactly sure where they lived. Oh, he knew that it was Privet Drive and he knew that the aunt was Petunia who happened to have a small son a few months older than little Harry, but he didn't know the house number or her husband's name and it would be so much of a bother to go find out, given the chaos the Wizarding world currently found itself in. But Minerva certainly wouldn't mind going to check, would she? It would be such a help, especially considering the state of things. And he had a (albeit old) photo.

And she hadn't minded, not really, glad for an excuse to go and watch the muggles who were supposed to watch the son of two of her favourite students. She recalled Lily crying and complaining about how her sister shunned her out of jealousy for her magic and she was loathe to leave Harry with that woman. But perhaps things had changed...?

As it turned out Minerva had ended up there in the late morning and so had missed Petunia leaving Number 4, but she had certainly heard the loud wails coming from Number 5 and, promptly looking through the window, saw who could only be the woman she was looking for and the boy who Albus must have been referring to—though "small" wasn't exactly the word for him. A man was at the table as well, a man with slightly tousled chestnut hair and clear brown eyes who had a rather forced smile on his chiselled face as he served the woman tea.

There was nothing visible to dissuade Minerva from believing that this was the house of Petunia and her son, and apparently a rather unfortunate husband who had perhaps rushed into this whole family business a tad too soon, judging by his young features. She couldn't see the moving boxes that were stacked haphazardly in the bedrooms or the plate of biscuits in the kitchen that Petunia had brought as a "welcome to the neighbourhood" gift.

It wasn't her fault that around 1 when Petunia was leaving Minerva was being distracted by a rather excitable dog that either wanted to play with her or eat her—it wasn't particularly clear. Or that when 5:30 came and the woman in question came out to greet her actual husband an incredibly lost semi-truck whose driver looked terribly confused thundered down the obviously residential street and made the usually stern witch leap head-first into the bushes. And when night fell and the rain started (along with some actual thunder and lightning), every curtain on Privet Drive was drawn tightly shut.

It was that chain of very strange coincidences that left Minerva McGonagall forever bemused about the muggle world and saw Harry Potter being set on the doorstep of Number 5, Privet Drive with a letter that contained information about the Wizarding world clasped tightly in his chubby toddler hand.

Anthony Bishop liked to consider himself an honest man. He worked hard to earn the money he had, kept well within the boundaries of the law, and would never be one to look covetously at another man's wife (especially not Vernon Dursley's, he'd thought grimly as he finally managed to shoo the ghastly woman from his house.) He had originally thought that Privet Drive would be a good neighbourhood to move to as he worked to make a name for himself, but if Petunia Dursley was any indication of the rest of the street's occupants he'd found himself rather out of luck.

The idea that luck had decided to take a vacation from his life was reinforced when he heard a crying sound from outside his door the following morning. Opening it up he found a baby on the doorstep, wrapped in a wet blanket with tufts of jet black hair sticking up in every direction. Its eyes were screwed shut and its face was red and soaked with tears while its forehead was marred by an angry, jagged scar. Not entirely sure of what he was doing Anthony quickly scooped up the little one and the thick envelope beside it and returned inside.

Curious as he was, Anthony's years as a med student kicked in (and he finally had his doctorate) and he knew his first priority was to get the little one dried and warm. This provided the answer to one question; peeling off the wet clothes and the soiled nappy, Anthony was able to see that his charge was very much a boy. He briefly considered ringing Petunia and asking to borrow some baby things, but he quickly decided that he would rather not let the Privet Drive Gossip Queen in on this business quite yet. Instead he grabbed a soft towel and pinned it around the child's nether regions as a crude sort of nappy before wrapping it in a layer of saran wrap to prevent too much leakage. At some point the child had stopped crying and instead was sniffling softly, gazing up at him with the most brilliant pair of emerald eyes Anthony had ever seen. He smiled gently.

"It's alright, little one, I'm not going to hurt you," Anthony murmured softly, placing a blanket around the boy's shoulders before turning his attention to the gash on his forehead. The boy whimpered and pulled away when he reached out to touch it. "Hey, I said I wasn't going to hurt you. I just want to help you get better," he soothed.

"Hep?" the boy asked timidly. "Muma? Dada?" Anthony frowned and he could feel his heart break.

"I can help you, little one, but I don't know about your parents," he told the child, slowly reaching out to brush the fine black hair away from the cut again. This time the boy didn't pull away, but he did stare at Anthony with his wide emerald eyes. "What's your name?"

"Hauw," the boy said, slapping a hand on his chest. Anthony tilted his head slightly in confusion. "_Hauw!"_ the boy insisted, apparently not liking Anthony's inability to grasp his take on the English language.

"How?" Anthony asked, running a hand through his hair in bewilderment.

"Hauw-_ee,_" the child emphasized and this time Anthony understood.

"Oh, Harry?" The boy nodded, looking pleased with himself. "Well my name's Anthony and it's very nice to meet you."

"Anfin?" Harry squinted at the strange man who was gently prodding the skin around the cut. He grinned when Anthony chuckled.

"Close enough, kiddo."

That had been morning and for some reason Anthony had not yet called anyone—not the police, not child services, not even the Dursleys. Instead he laid Harry down for a nap in the middle of his bed after a very hectic breakfast ("'Muma!' 'I'm sorry kiddo, but your mama's not here,'" and "Wan' Dada, Anfin no!" and "Pafoo, Mooni, wan' Muma!" and definitely the least heart wrenching of all "'Mik!' 'You can have milk after you drink some water, Harry.' 'No wa'oo, mik!'").

He really wasn't sure why he hadn't called anyone yet.

Perhaps it was the promise of answers that were potentially held in that parchment envelope.

So Anthony sat down on the bed beside Harry, leaning against the headboard, and turned the thing over in his hands. It was addressed to a Petunia and he could only assume that it was meant for Petunia Dursley and that Harry had only accidentally ended up on his doorstep. Thinking back to the woman's horrid behaviour the day before and her overweight, spoilt son, Anthony realized very quickly that he was glad that Harry had ended up with him instead. With some hesitation, he broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

What was this? Anthony grimly noted that Harry's parents—Lily and James Potter—were dead, but what sort of people had they been mixed up in? Murdered by a Lord Voldemort (flight from death, what sort of person was this?) who called himself a dark lord wizard, and allied with a group of people who believed that magic was real and that they were also wizards—and that Harry had saved them from this death man after being hit with something called a "Killing Curse" (and if that wasn't macabre Anthony didn't know what was). And they were expecting him back when he turned eleven so that he could go through a sort of wizard training.

If this idea of people who believed they could perform magic coming to sweep up Harry after abandoning him with his aunt (had they managed to actually find the right house) didn't make up Anthony's mind then the last paragraph of the letter did. Apparently this "Albus Dumbledore" (which seemed nearly as bad as the name "Voldemort") knew that Lily and Petunia had been estranged for years, that Petunia had done her best to make her sister's life miserable throughout their teen years, but was asking that all that be put aside in favour of the little boy who was being forced upon her. And why? Something about wards being tied to Harry and Petunia's shared blood that would protect the boy from the spirit of his parents' murderer.

If Anthony ever met Albus Dumbledore, he was punching the man in the face—"wizard" or not.

Anthony Bishop liked to consider himself an honest man, but in that moment he realized that he would much rather be a good one. And he started to plan.


	2. Chapter 2

An immense number of towels, a case of milk, buckets of patience, and three days of self-imposed house arrest later Anthony and Harry were on their way to speak with child services about their situation. The letter was hidden carefully in Anthony's personal things and he had re-packed everything he had unpacked since the move. All of the unofficial arrangements were made.

It was time.

Pulling Harry out of the car seat he'd borrowed from a woman down the street for his "nephew," Anthony strolled up to the professional looking building.

"Hello," he said, approaching the receptionist as Harry contentedly chewed on his hand. "My name is Anthony Bishop and I'm here for a meeting with Dana Mitchell?"

The receptionist smiled, eyes softening at the sight of Harry and responded "Anthony Bishop? Yes, here you are. Head down the hall, Ms. Mitchell's the first door on the left." Anthony gave her a smile and followed her directions, shifting Harry to his other hip and knocking.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Bishop, please come in," invited a woman who must be Ms. Mitchell. Her hair was blond and pulled back, revealing small silver hoops on her ears that matched a chain at her neck and bangles on her wrists. From the chain hung a heart-shaped turquoise pendant, wrapped in silver vines, that complemented her blue-green shirt. A reserved smile topped off the professional ensemble, but despite this (and Anthony's general dislike of red tape and those who worked with it) she seemed to be a very pleasant woman. It probably helped that she let loose a grin when she caught Harry's curious gaze. "And who is _this _young man?"

Harry just looked at her and Anthony bumped him up in his arm slightly. "Can you tell her your name?" Harry looked to Anthony then to Ms. Mitchell.

"Hauw," he mumbled, turning into Anthony's jacket. The man's arms unconsciously tightened around him.

Ms. Mitchell's eyes turned questioningly to Anthony who clarified "Harry." Her smile returned and she waved them into the office. Anthony took the proffered chair on the opposite side of her desk and shifted Harry into his lap.

"Well it seems as though you two have grown rather close, Mr. Bishop," she observed.

"Anthony, please."

"Dana," she offered another smile. "So, down to business, Anthony. Could you please tell me exactly how Harry here came into your care?" She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of her desk.

"I woke up one morning and heard something that sounded like crying coming from outside; I went out and he was on my doorstep," Anthony explained, purposefully omitting the letter.

"And what condition was he in?"

"Wet," replied Anthony heavily. "There had been a storm that night and his blankets were soaked through. He also had a nice gash on his forehead that hadn't yet closed up." Dana frowned.

"I see. According to my records you did not seek medical attention?" Anthony shook his head, ducking slightly.

"I was rather overwhelmed. As you could see in my file I have undergone extensive medical training and my first actions were to get him warm and dry. I cleaned up his forehead easily and there's been no sign of infection or any other complications. I have been careful."

"Yes. While you may not have taken the best course of action that can be forgiven..." Dana trailed off. "There was no form of identification left with him?"

"No," Anthony denied, hoping that he sounded prompt rather than that he was lying.

"So are you some sort of baby whisperer or did you have some other method of discovering his name?" Dana asked dryly. Harry, who up until that point had been snuggled into Anthony's jacket, popped up.

"Muma?" he asked excitedly, looking around. "Muma, where'oo?" Dana looked on in pity as his face fell and he began sniffling. "Muma?"

Anthony picked up the little boy and turned him so that they could make eye contact. "Harry," he said quietly. The boy sniffed and looked at him through watery eyes.

"Wan' Muma. Wan' Dada. Pafoo, Mooni! Anfin, home!" Harry was sobbing, legs kicking and face screwed up. "Anfin, where Muma?"

"Harry, I'm sorry but your mummy and dad can't be with you right now," Anthony told the small boy.

"Gone?" questioned the sniffling child. Anthony nodded hesitantly, not sure what it meant to the boy.

"Li' gama an' papa?"

"I would expect so," Anthony said softly. Dana coughed.

"Harry, did I sound like your mother?" she asked gently. The small boy nodded tearfully.

"Muma gone?"

"Yes," said Anthony, earning a sharp look from Dana.

"And how do you know that?" Anthony sighed, gathering up his courage and diving into his rehearsed story.

"I have a friend who collects obituaries," he lied, holding back a wince at her raised eyebrow. How did he decide that this would be a good idea? He was fairly sure he could be arrested for this, or at the very least fined. "I know, it's strange. But he saw Harry and he pulled this out."

Dana took the newspaper clipping Anthony fished out of his pocket. It had been difficult to track down, but he did have friends—not particularly close ones, but ones that didn't question his motives at least—and it was very necessary, in his opinion. Even in black and white James Potter looked exactly like his son, and Lily's eyes were the same almond shape—Anthony would even bet that they were the same almost ethereal colour as Harry's. According to the article they had died on October 31 in a home invasion gone amiss in their small South Whales cottage. Harry was only mentioned briefly, and it said nothing about where he had supposedly gone. It said nothing about the Dursleys.

"Knowing that his name is Harry, it seemed pretty clear..." Anthony explained. "Can't you see how much he looks like James Potter?"

"Yes," murmured Dana. "Yes, I think the relation is very clear."

"I tried to look into the Potters but I couldn't find anything," Anthony told her, glad to finally be able to be truthful. "No marriage certificate, no house deed, no schooling record. Just that article and a report from the fire department about their house. I couldn't even find Lily Potter's maiden name." Dana looked thoughtful.

"Well, I can see if I can find anything. I'm assuming that you're interested in adopting Harry?" Anthony nodded emphatically.

"I've grown rather fond of him," he said earnestly. "He's very intelligent, and sweet. I'm more than capable of providing for him."

"Maybe you could go with Harry and have him looked at by our physician while I do some digging?" Dana encouraged. "If I can't find the Potters' will then Harry's custody will be a little hazy. We'll have to run a background check on you, do some interviews, you might have to attend some parenting classes, but if everything checks out and there's no one in line for custody of Harry then you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

Anthony nodded and left the room after being told how to reach the infirmary.

Dana sighed heavily as she hung up the phone. There were no records of any James and Lily Potters from South Whales or anywhere else that she could find that matched their descriptions. Only that obituary, and she was very sure that it hadn't been fabricated.

Who were these people? Perhaps she should ask for another word with Mr. Bishop.

Anthony sat down in the chair once more, this time without Harry. It had taken a bit of work to get the boy to let him go, but the elderly Dr. Fred Harper had distracted him with a collection of brightly coloured children's books. He himself was slightly nervous, having been firmly attached to Harry for days without break.

Dana smiled graciously and started. "Well, I don't believe I really need to tell you that this case is rather bizarre." Anthony gave a hollow laugh.

"No, I don't believe you do."

The smile slid off her face, replaced by a look of frustrated confusion. "You were right. I wasn't able to find anything on James and Lily Potter—and I had people looking in the government. I'd say that they never existed, if it weren't for that obituary, the fire department report, and the fact that their son is currently just downstairs. I do have a background check form for you to sign."

Anthony quickly read over the sheet of paper and signed it without hesitation. Aside from the letter that was currently at his house he had nothing to hide. He looked questioningly at Dana when she bit her lip.

"I've already drawn up the adoption forms," she blurt out. "Take them with you, just sign everything, and it'll be all the easier once you get cleared."

"Thank you," Anthony said, slightly stunned. He'd been expecting it to take longer. Then it was his turn to hesitate. "Dana, I think I might need your help with something."

"Yes?" Anthony exhaled hard.

"The article said that they died in a home invasion gone awry," he began.

"Yes..." Dana said again, brow furrowing over sapphire eyes. "Why does that trouble you?"

"You must have read the report from the fire department. The house was decimated, completely burned to the ground. What sort of home invasion ends like that, no matter how badly they screwed up?

"And," he pressed on at her doubtful look, "it mentioned that there was evidence of an explosion. But there was no damage done to the houses on either side. What kind of explosion behaves like that? And how on earth did Harry survive with nothing other than a cut on his forehead if it did happen?"

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Bishop?" Dana asked quietly. Ah. Back to surnames then. Anthony paused.

"I don't have proof of anything," he admitted. "But you have to admit that it's all rather suspicious. And...you've seen all of the terrorist attacks that have been happening. You know how bad it's been." She nodded in assent, wincing slightly. "All I'm saying is that if James and Lily Potter _were_ mixed up in something, who's to say that whoever attacked them won't try to go after Harry again?"

"So are you saying that you _don't_ want to adopt Harry?" Dana asked sharply. Anthony stared, aghast, and quickly backtracked.

"No, no, no! That's not it at all!" He stared at her, pleading for her to understand. "I really, truly do want him. But regardless of who he ends up with, I don't believe that Britain is the safest place for him to be right now." Anthony gulped. "And maybe Harry Potter isn't the safest _person_ for him to be."

Dana stared at him, eyes wide but calculating. Had he really just suggested that? He didn't even have emergency custody yet! But he did have a point...

"So let me get this straight," she began slowly. "You want to adopt Harry, change his name, and take him out of the country?"

"Preferably the United States," Anthony nodded. "No issues with the language, and I have family there." She gave him a hard look.

"You've put a bit of thought into this, haven't you?" she demanded and he looked meek.

"I prefer to be prepared."

"That's certainly not a bad thing..." Dana mumbled, then sighed. "Fine. I'll see what I can do, probably call in some favours, but I'm not making any promises. But," she warned, "if your background doesn't check out then I am going to find _some_ charge that they can convict you of." Anthony dipped his head.

"Thank you."

The turn of the new year saw Anthony Bishop was boarding a plane, taking his son Matthew to visit his aunt in Washington state.


	3. Chapter 3

The night was cold; heavy, grey clouds hung in the sky as the taxi pulled up in front of a two story house. The house looked grey in the darkness but upon closer inspection it was a light, almost powder blue, and a cobbled path led from the driveway (which went into a small garage) to the front door step.

Anthony exited the cab, grabbing Harry—_Matthew_—while the driver pulled their luggage from the boot. Anthony thanked the man and paid him with money he'd changed at the airport, took the bags (skillfully balancing Matthew on his hip as he did so), and approached the house. Before he'd even so much as knocked on the door it had flung open and he found himself engulfed in a very awkward, very loud hug.

"Anthony Samuel Bishop you have _so_ much explaining to do!" exclaimed the woman, pulling back. She was a few years older than Anthony, with shoulder length blond hair and sharp brown eyes, a pointed nose with flared nostrils and a bow mouth that curled into a smile when she caught sight of Matthew, who shrank into Anthony's jacket. "This must be the little one you mentioned! Come inside, quickly, and don't you _dare_ think about skipping any of the details."

Said man sighed and gladly handed off one of the bags as he followed her into the house. Her living room was clean but homey, with a lush green carpet and beige walls. Anthony sank onto the dark brown couch and transferred a bleary-eyed and wary Matthew to his lap.

"Honestly Cal, you're starting to sound American," Anthony complained, rubbing the ear she'd shrieked into. Cal glared.

"Well it has been a few years," she defended haughtily. "Now, first thing's first; are either of you hungry?"

After a small snack, wherein Anthony had to coax a Matthew who was rather annoyed at the absence of milk into eating some toast and fruit ("Mik! No pen't buttew, mo' apple!") and said boy had opened up immensely to his "Auntie Cal," the child was asleep on the couch beside his adoptive father.

His adoptive father was stopping himself from cowering from his older sister's glare.

"Alright little brother, it's time for you to _talk_," she informed him, crossing her arms as she sat, queen-like in a reclining chair.

"Well I found a child," Anthony explained lamely, wincing as her look of disapproval intensified. "Actually, he was left on my doorstep."

"By whom?" she drawled. Anthony scrambled in his jacket for the now crumpled and well-read letter.

"This was with him," he told her quietly, casting a glance at the deeply-breathing Matthew. Cal wrinkled her nose.

"Parchment? Really?" she muttered as she grabbed the letter with two fingers as though it was infected. "That's disgusting."

"No animal rights rants, just read," Anthony ordered, rolling his eyes. His sister stuck her tongue out at him and turned her eyes to the page. They grew bigger the more she read.

"I—Tony, you can't possibly believe this," she spluttered. Her brother rolled his eyes again.

"Don't call me that," he said, annoyed. "And I don't know what to believe. All I know is that this child could be in some serious danger back at home."

"So you brought him here."

"What was I supposed to do, wait around for someone to find him?" he shot back. Cal quickly backtracked.

"No, no, no, I understand. It's just…what if they do manage to track him down?" she asked quietly, casting her gaze over her new nephew. The boy's chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, his eyes fluttering ever so often as unintelligible sounds floated from his lips. Every aspect of him was tiny—she couldn't even bring herself to think of him as small, the word just didn't hold the same significance—from his thin arms and legs to his torso, and the feathery mess of black hair atop his head that almost dwarfed its perch in comparison. She'd been shocked by the vividness of his green eyes that were by then hidden behind heavy lids and long lashes. And then there was the angry, red scar that marred his otherwise pale forehead; she could see how much that inflammation troubled her brother, who was positive that the mark wasn't infected but was equally sure that it should have faded at least a bit otherwise.

The newly named Matthew was far too young to be caught up in all of this, Cal decided firmly. If anyone—be it whoever killed his parents or the people who tried leaving him on the doorstep of the awful people Anthony had told her about—_anyone_ tried to hurt him or take him away from her brother, they would have to face the force that was an angry, protective Calinda Bishop. No one interfered with her family.

_No one_.

She made eye contact with her brother, who looked as determined as she felt.

"Then we deal with it," he said confidently. "I don't care if they're terrorists or government or—hell, even if they are actually _wizards_, he's my son now. I won't let them take him away from me."

* * *

By the end of their first week staying with Auntie Cal, it was very clear that Anthony _needed_ to find somewhere else to live. Not because his sister was overbearing, or because his son didn't like her, but because Matthew was not adjusting well at _all_ to the vegan lifestyle. While he spent quite a bit of his free time crying for his parents, mealtimes consisted entirely of screaming for milk.

If Anthony was being honest, he was getting rather tired of the meatless diet anyway.

* * *

The new house was a rental from an old woman who positively doted on Matthew. While under other circumstances Anthony might have been annoyed by her constant chatter and spontaneous appearances at the house, he could only feel grateful for the piles of clothes and toys that were growing in the boy's bedroom courtesy of Mrs. Warrick ("Call me Sue!") and his own sister, as well as the bags of toddler-approved food that she seemed to bring with every visit.

He supposed it didn't hurt to have a good relationship with the landlady, either.

Matthew was adjusting to his new life, slowly yet surely. He seemed fairly attached to Anthony at least, and would without fail choose him over any other adult in the room. Fortunately, though, he at least tolerated Cal and reportedly stopped screaming about five minutes after Anthony left the room when left with his aunt. As it was Cal lived a mere two blocks away and Anthony didn't feel comfortable enough to leave his son with anyone besides her.

She was quickly trying to change that.

"Anthony, you need to find someone to take care of him when we can't," she'd snapped while scrubbing a plate with a slightly mangled sponge. "I work and you're waiting on that interview with the hospital—your savings aren't going to last forever, you know, and our schedules simply won't match up most of the time. You need a daycare, a nanny, _something_."

"I _know_, Cal," he'd groaned back, raking his hand down his face. "It's only—_you_ read the letter," he reminded her in lowered tones, glancing through the wide opening from the kitchen to the living room where Matthew was stacking blocks and clapping as he knocked them back down. "How am I supposed to trust—"

"So you're just going to keep him locked up?" his sister demanded, whirling around. Anthony jerked back as water droplets flicked from the sponge in her hand. "You can't keep him a secret forever Tony, he needs a normal life. And you," this time she purposefully flicked the sponge in his face, "need money." Anthony sighed.

"I know," he agreed, eyes wandering back to the child. "The interview's next week."

* * *

New job secure, Anthony and Cal spent hours of lullabies and mashed bananas sifting through applications. They had poured in as a response to the ad posted in the local paper, searching for a nanny—most of the applicants were young women looking to pay their way through college, though there were a few young men after the same. Some were instantly binned, for reasons ranging from conflicting schedules to shady pasts to outright terrifying background checks. Even more were shunted into a pile of unlikelies, often due to lack of experience.

Throughout all of this, Matthew was entertained either by one of the adults or the multitude of toys he had accumulated by virtue of cuteness from Cal and Sue. He was becoming more and more acclimated to his environment, had begun to sleep through the night, and had even stopped crying for an hour after Antony left him with Cal.

Watching the green-eyed child stack his blocks, Anthony very much hoped that their progress wouldn't go out the window with the new babysitter, but it later seemed that he needn't have worried.

* * *

Former Gunny Sergeant Manuel Sanchez had two adult children, both adopted, as well as three grandchildren between them with one on the way. He had been issued an honorable discharge after receiving a leg injury that left him needing a cane and had later retired from his subsequent job as a teacher, and he and his wife were both upstanding citizens with spotless records and impeccable references. That he was still fully capable of self defense was another factor in his hiring. When Cal asked why he was pursuing a job as a nanny, Sanchez replied that he was bored with retirement and had always held a soft spot for children.

Matthew and "Unca Manny" got on like a house on fire. The man was gentle and spoke softly to the boy, and had suggested that he spend some time with Matthew and his family before they were left alone so the child would feel more comfortable. He read all of Matthew's favourite stories and brought a few of his own, all in Spanish, which Matthew would try to imitate in ways that brought smiles to the faces of all the adults.

After all of the chaos in their beginning, things were starting to look up for the Bishop family.


	4. Chapter 4

_They had nothing other than a cryptic letter left by someone who saw fit to leave children on doorsteps and not even check if it was the right one._

"Dr. Bishop? Your nanny is here to see you," came a voice from behind him. Anthony looked up from the charts he was examining and blinked, worry creasing his brow.

"Did he say what he was here for?" asked the Brit, voice tense. The blond nurse sympathetically shook her head.

"I'm afraid not," she told him, then reassuringly added "He didn't look panicked or anything, only mildly troubled." Anthony sighed.

"Thank you Ashley," he said graciously. "Could you have Dr. Brunner take over my 2:00? And alert administration that I have a potential family emergency."

"Of course," she said, grabbing his charts and beginning to leave. "Oh," she said, stopping herself and turning halfway to smirk at him. "Your son's adorable by the way."

"He is," Anthony agreed, striding out of the office and into the waiting room, where he saw Manny closely watching Matthew, who was playing with one of his toy trucks by the magazine table. The Marine looked up as he approached, looking relieved.

"Anthony, I'm glad you were able to get away," he said in low tones, glancing down at Matthew. "Perhaps we could take this somewhere private?" Anthony narrowed his eyes, looking from his son to his son's caretaker, then nodded sharply.

"My car," he said, pasting a smile on his face when he kneeled down to greet Matthew.

"Da!" the child yelled, throwing his arms around his guardian. The enthusiastic greeting made Anthony's smile a little more genuine. Matthew had begun calling him that a few weeks previous and it still lifted Anthony's heart like nothing else.

"Hey there love," he said with a peck to Matthew's forehead. Matthew immediately brought the toy up to his father's eye level.

"Da, thuck!" he said, though it sounded like something that made Anthony look around surreptitiously while Manny grinned.

"Don't worry, Anthony, tons of kids say it that way when they're young," he assured the younger man with a pat on the shoulder. "Enjoy it while he actually means 'truck'."

Anthony rolled his eyes and was about to respond before he realized something.

The truck was blue.

"Matthew, did Uncle Manny give you a new truck?" he asked. The child shook his head.

"My wed thuck!" Matthew insisted cheerfully and Anthony frowned.

"Matthew, that's blue."

"_Wed thuck bue."_ Anthony looked up inquiringly at Manny, who sighed.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said tensely, looking around the mostly deserted waiting room. "Let's go to your car." Anthony agreed in confusion, lifting Matthew onto his hip despite his protests _("I walk by my_sef!_")_ and exited the building.

Unlocking the car, he passed Matthew off to Manny and got into the driver's seat (which had taken quite a bit of getting used to, driving on the right side of the road) while Manny got in on the passenger side and settled Matthew on his lap. Once both doors were slammed shut, Manny began speaking.

"I was talking to him about colors while he played with his trucks," he explained, bouncing the toddler on his knee. "We'd talked about blue this morning and it must have stuck; he asked about blue and I told him he didn't have any blue trucks. He held up one of the red ones and asked 'Dis bue?' and I told him no, and he began insisting 'Dis bue, dis bue.'"

"And then it just turned blue," Anthony asked skeptically. Manny nodded. "Just like that?"

"Yes," the other man assured. "Just like that."

The pair were silent for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, watching Matthew _"bvoom bvoom"_ his stubbornly blue truck. Finally, Manny turned to Anthony.

"Anthony," he began cautiously, "you know that letter you showed me?" Anthony's eyes narrowed and he dipped his head briefly. "Could this…have to do with that?"

"Are you suggesting my son is a wizard?"

"I'm telling you that I saw a toy truck turn from red to blue after he had firmly insisted that the latter was its true color."

Silence reigned once more between the two adults.

"What are you thinking?" Manny ventured.

"I have no idea," was his murmured reply.

As it was, the supposed magic didn't stop at changing the color of toy trucks. The first time Anthony witnessed it firsthand was when a chocolate biscuit flew out of the box he was returning to the cupboard and into the waiting hand of an angry, screaming, red-faced Matthew.

When he was learning to jump, Cal saw him leap far higher than he should have been able to when he got frustrated and float slowly down to the ground after he got afraid.

There were subtle things, too, things that Anthony wouldn't have noticed had he not been looking for the signs already—a slight indoor wind accompanying a temper tantrum, how the tigers on his pajamas glowed minutely after a nightmare, the odd disappearance of a vegetable at the dinner table. None of them knew what to make of it. Library searches turned up nothing, and gentle prodding of the community earned only a few odd looks. They had nothing other than a cryptic letter left by someone who saw fit to leave children on doorsteps and not even check if it was the right one.

"Maybe," Cal theorized one day in one of the adults' Matthew-centric meetings (which were happening with increasing frequency), "there's some group of people who can do some weird energy-manipulation and this terrorist group decided to codename them witches and wizards."

"If that's the case then who's to say it's not really magic?" Manny asked while Anthony looked thoughtful.

"Whatever it is, it happens when he's experiencing strong negative emotions," Anthony cut over Cal's response, pulling out the notebook they used to log the incidents and the circumstances surrounding them. "Tantrums, frustration, hunger, fear, it's the common link. Nothing's happened when he was happy."

"What about the truck?" Manny countered, brow furrowing. "He didn't sound like he was frustrated that it wasn't blue, or that I didn't believe him, just…convicted."

"Alright, negative and neutral emotions," Cal put in. "Perhaps if he's strongly enough convinced that something is true, this…force…will intervene to make it so."

They all blanched at the thought.

"A two year old who can alter reality to fit his beliefs," Manny whispered. Anthony shook his head.

"No, no…that letter implies that there are others," he said, sounding hopeful in a resigned sort of way. "And global affairs would certainly be better if toddlers could alter reality."

The other two smiled weakly at his half-hearted joke and gazed into the other room where Matthew was enthralled by _Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood_*. Manny sighed.

"Well, for the time being all we can do is give him a stable environment with as little emotional pressure as possible."

They all agreed.

They were fortunate that Matthew only rarely threw tantrums, because otherwise taking him out in public would have been a nightmare. It was, on occasion, due to having to explain away strange occurrences that happened when something he wanted wasn't put in the cart. This happened most often when Matthew the milk lover went shopping with his vegan Aunt Cal, but Anthony and Manny still faced problems when they skipped on the cookies or yogurt.

It was a good thing they hadn't stopped taking him completely, though, because one day everything changed-one day, someone saw.

"Oh my God," the blonde woman had whispered when she saw an ear of corn hop into the cart next to Matthew. Perhaps it wasn't the most ideal response from someone who witnessed potential magic, but it was enough to make Anthony look around, flick his eyes between the corn next to his son and the woman next to the onions, and promptly try to smooth the situation over.

"Look, I can explain-" he began, but she cut across him.

"He does it too! Your son does it too!"

Her words were barely above a whisper, but to Anthony they changed everything.

* * *

***_RIP_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Before we get started, sorry about the wait. More importantly, Carter's name (which was originally Harry) has been changed to Matthew for personal reasons which I will now proceed to fill you in on in parentheses (between the publishing of the last chapter and the completion of this one, I began regularly seeing a child named Carter. I have an internal list of not-to-use names for writing when I can't internally reconcile the differences between the character and the real-life person. Carter was, unfortunately, added to this list against my will. This will be the only name change and it only happened because his name became fairly significant in my house, as he became my 3 year old cousin's first "best friend"). Also, I made minor changes to the previous chapters, the most major of which (besides the name change) being that Dumbledore's letter now mentions the Killing Curse. This will be important.**

_**Previously:**_

"_Look, I can explain—" he began, but she cut across him._

"_He does it too. Your son does it too!"_

_Her words were barely above a whisper, but to Anthony they changed everything._

"My name is Kirstin," the woman said hastily, extending her hand as she stumbled toward them, abandoning her cart by the onions. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"You thought your child was the only one," Anthony finished grimly. "So did I."

"So I'm not crazy?" Kirstin asked hopefully, eyes searching, beseeching. "My husband and I knew there was something going on with Ro, but we couldn't find anything! And now—your little one, he made the corn go in your cart! He's even younger than when Rowan started." Anthony nodded, sending a stern look at Matthew who gave him a toothy grin that turned into a pout when Anthony returned the corn to the pile.

"This is Matthew, my little trouble maker," he introduced, raising an eyebrow at his son. "How about I give you my number and we can set up a time," he offered her. She immediately pulled a pad and pen out of her purse. "You, your husband, myself, my sister, Matthew's nanny, and—is there anyone taking care of your daughter who should know about this?"

Kirstin shook her head. "I'm a stay-at-home mom," she explained, taking the proffered book and pen. "Geoff works at Boeing."

"I'm a doctor," Anthony told her. "My sister's in real estate, and we hired a nanny soon after I brought Matthew over here. Do you have any idea when your husband will be free?"

"He has today off, that's where Ro is, but his next day off is this Thursday."

"That works for me as well," Anthony said. "Cal more or less manages her own hours and I don't believe she's in the middle of a sale."

"Excellent. We'll see you then—I'm assuming we can bring Ro?"

"Of course, she and Matthew can play together. Socialization would do him good."

* * *

Upon returning home Anthony immediately got Matthew settled in his high chair with some crackers and went to ring Cal. She was ecstatic.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Proof that he's not the only one!" Anthony easily compared their relief to the relief Kirstin and her husband must have been feeling.

"We set up a meeting for Thursday," he informed her. "Does that work?"

With her confirmation Anthony begged off any further conversation, citing his need to feed Matthew and call Manny, who turned out to be equally excited but brought up a very good question.

"Are you going to tell them about the letter, my friend?"

That had given Anthony pause. The letter did offer insight, albeit a far-fetched one. He didn't want to give Kirstin false hope that there was a reasonable—or, mildly reasonable—explanation if it really was just a coincidence, or if the group involved really was a cult. But, he decided, it would be best to be candid with Kirstin and her husband. They were all in a similar boat, after all.

Anthony was glad that Matthew went down easily. His stomach was twisted in knots as he entered his bedroom and pulled a lock box out from under the bed. He'd bought it the day after he arrived in America, for the sole purpose of housing the letter that had been left with his charge on that fateful November day.

It was time to take it out again.

* * *

Anthony found it oddly fitting that it was pouring down rain the day of the meeting. The darkness suited the anticipation in the house, and the storminess was strangely settling. Matthew could obviously sense his father's anticipation and was babbling nonstop as he tossed his toys around the room. Anthony smiled slightly as his son ran to the door upon hearing voices outside; Cal opened it without knocking to admit herself and Manny.

"Aun' Cal! Unca Manny!" Matthew squealed, stumbling as he wrapped his chubby arms around their legs. Manny chuckled and swung him upward after setting aside his cane, making him screech louder while Anthony and Cal winced.

"Hey there, niño," Manny greeted. "Anthony." He limped over to the couch and settled the boy on his good knee, Cal sitting down beside him and prodding Matthew's stomach.

"How's my favourite nephew today?" she cooed. Matthew giggled, emerald eyes wide and black hair bouncing as Manny jiggled his leg.

"There's a vegan lasagna in the oven," Anthony directed at his sister. "The others should be here any minute—" the doorbell rang "—now." He stood and strode across the room, opening the door to reveal Kirsten and a man in a blue button up and khakis, and a little girl wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The man's hair was brown and he had some stubble on his face and neck, but the little girl had hair as blond as her mother's with hazel eyes to match. Kirsten smiled and extended her hand.

"Anthony, it's good to see you again," she gushed. "I've been looking forward to this since we met. This is Geoff, my husband." She paused as Geoff shook Anthony's hand. "And this is our daughter, Rowan." Anthony gave the girl a small smile as she turned her face into her father's leg.

"Please, come in. This is my sister, Cal, and our nanny, Manny." Rowan giggled slightly and moved away from her father. "And, of course, my son Matthew."

Manny shifted Matthew slightly so he could look at the little girl. "Hello there," he said softly. "How old are you, Rowan?"

"Two'n'a'haf," she replied proudly, holding up her entire hand. The adults chuckled.

"Well, Matty here will be 2 in a couple months," Manny informed her. She stared, wide-eyed at the little boy in front of her and edged forward. She leaned toward Matthew with near-clinical interest. Matthew blinked at her and leaned in as well, touching their noses and foreheads together. Both children began giggling like mad.

Bemused yet smiling, Anthony grabbed Matthew off of Manny's lap and set him beside Rowan. "Why don't you go show your new friend your toys?" Matthew looked from his father to Rowan, then grabbed his fellow toddler by the hand and led her to a pile of cars.

"My wed thuck! Wed thuck bwue!"

"We can watch them from the dining room table," Anthony told his guests, gesturing for them to sit down while he retrieved mugs, a pot of coffee, and a kettle of tea from the kitchen. The notebook they used to log Anthony's "magic" was already laying there, along with the letter. Kirsten pulled another notebook out of her purse.

"I see we had the same idea," she commented, flipping the book open. "The incidents started a few months ago. Once I realized they weren't strange coincidences I started writing them down."

"We did the same," Anthony agreed as he sat and poured himself a cup of tea. "Manny came to my office telling me that Matthew had changed the color of one of his trucks."

"That was so blatant that we had to take notice; I'm not even sure if there were any instances before that…" Cal added. Manny nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"You seem to have something that we don't," Geoff stated, nodding toward the heavy envelope. Anthony, Cal, and Manny all looked at each other, then over at the children who were crashing cars together.

"Well, you might have noticed, but Matthew isn't biologically mine," Anthony began, voice dropping as he nudged the letter over to the couple to read while he talked. "I found him on my doorstep, actually. He was supposed to be left with my neighbor, but…well, they weren't very pleasant people. He had that letter with him, and I'll admit that after reading it I was even more glad he was with me.

"Matthew's name was originally Harry Potter," Anthony whispered the name, glancing at his son. It had been difficult getting him used to the new name. "Though we'd appreciate it if you kept that quiet."

"I can see why you changed it," Geoff murmured as he scanned the letter a second time. "I wouldn't want Ro mixed up in—in whatever this is." The others nodded emphatically.

"So…" Kirsten began, wide eyes still on the parchment. "So, according to this, our children are witches—o-or, a witch and a wizard? That's-that's—"

"Completely insane?" suggested Cal. "So is changing the color of a toy truck."

"Or making your pacifier float off the shelf," Geoff offered. His eyes wandered over to the two children who had changed to playing monsters with some plush toys.

"We've noticed that the magic—or whatever it is—only happens when Matthew experiences very strong emotions."

"That's what we've seen as well," Kirsten told Manny.

Silence. The only sounds were the children roaring and squealing. No one knew quite what to say, though there was an odd sense of relief now that someone knew, now that someone else understood even if no one could explain the why or what or how.

"Maybe," Geoff started, looking slightly unsure, "we need to…pursue this. Try to get them to do it on purpose."

"You want to test the children? Experiment on them?" Kirsten looked scandalized.

"No, no, I think I understand," Manny looked intensely at the other man. "We can give them small tasks, things that they've done before. Ask them to change something's color, or make something float."

"Then we just see what happens," Geoff nodded. "Maybe they'll manage it. Maybe they'll end up frustrated and do it accidentally…but…on purpose." Kirsten snickered.

"Alright, I'm fine with that," she said. "Anthony? Cal?"

Cal looked to her brother. He nodded. "We might not get anything out of it, but it's worth a try."

"Maybe we can meet up regularly and compare notes?" Cal suggested. "Work permitting, of course."

The others agreed, and Kirsten offered to look after Matthew if Manny was ever unavailable. Manny and Anthony returned the offer.

Maybe together they could puzzle this out.

* * *

**ATTENTION: I'm having some planning issues. I have a general plan, but I'm having difficulty getting the details down and that's really what I need to get chapters written. If anyone's interested in acting as a sounding board/idea generator (and this does involve spoilers) _please _PM me. I need you.**

**Reviews are very welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

"_If it's too high for you to reach, then you're not allowed to have it without a grownup's permission."_

"_The sitting room, kitchen, and main bathroom need to stay the same colour all the time, in case we have guests over."_

"_Please don't touch the ceiling unless someone is holding you up to it."_

* * *

Were Cal inclined to wake up and leave her house early enough, she probably would have made fun of Anthony's pre-morning routine, as he liked to call it. It consisted entirely of sitting on the sofa, staring at the blank television screen, and nursing a mug of scalding tea. If she ever did find out, he was sure he'd blandly remind her that she'd never had children.

It was nice, being able to relax, not having to be at work yet and being briefly free of Matthew's energy and nonstop questions. The child really had flourished—in most ways, at least.

Anthony glanced over to the cream wall by the door, where framed pictures hung, surprisingly straight. His eyes were drawn to one particular one: a two and a half year old with messy black hair and a pair of goggle-like glasses strapped over bright green eyes. He was grinning toothily, pale cheeks flushed red in the autumn chill, red and brown leaves scattering the pavement behind him. Anthony sighed.

They weren't sure what exactly was wrong with Matthew's eyes, but they were deteriorating rather quickly according to the ophthalmologist. Those first few years had been a slow, but steady decline, but now… It was almost like some sort of infection, or rot, but scans showed nothing, and nobody knew what to think.

Anthony had very nearly decided to hold off on kindergarten for a year, but Matthew was so smart and so _ready_ for school that he opted not to; so, armed with a report from the doctor, he had driven to the local "elementary school" (though he was rather certain he'd accidentally gotten Matthew stuck on the word "primary") a few weeks previous to arrange accommodations for his son. He'd met the man who would act as Matthew's aide during class, one Mr. Cracknell ("He can call me Joseph, though, or Joe. It's likely I'll follow him as he moves up anyway."), who had apparently also hailed from England.

Now it was the first day of school, and Anthony had begged and borrowed to be able to go in late to work so he could take Matthew himself. Manny would pick up both Matthew and Ro—who was ever so excited that her best friend would be joining her, even if she was in first grade and he wasn't—that afternoon, freeing up Kirsten to do some child-free grocery shopping.

_God,_ he was nervous. Far more than he had any business being, but he couldn't shake it. He had to, of course, for Matthew's sake; the boy was ecstatic, had been for weeks, hanging off of Ro's every story of her year in kindergarten and asking after Cal and Anthony's own memories of reception.

Matthew had gotten all the stories he wanted, but he also got a very stern talking to about using his—what they were terming _magic_—at school. Accidents were okay, Anthony stressed, but willfully causing something out of the norm to happen wasn't. The other children in his class weren't likely to be able to do the same things as him, and it was something that he was only to talk about at home. Matthew had been slightly confused, as his main playmate for most of his life was also able to perform magic, but Ro had stepped in and helped explain—she had received a similar warning the year before, along with a reminder for first grade.

Suffice it to say, the pair had taken to their caretakers' "experimentation" well; it had taken a few outbursts of frustration before they were able to do it on purpose, but before too long Anthony was somewhat used to his furniture changing colour every day or so. Geoff, who he occasionally went to bars with, had informed him that all of the sweets in the Talbot house were now stored in locked cupboards, lest little Rowan make them float down to her. Kirsten was still dreading the day Ro inevitably learned how to manipulate locks, though both children had responded well to rules regarding their abilities.

"_If it's too high for you to reach, then you're not allowed to have it without a grownup's permission."_

"_The sitting room, kitchen, and main bathroom need to stay the same colour all the time, in case we have guests over."_

"_Please don't touch the ceiling unless someone is holding you up to it."_

They were coming up on an exhausting four years together. Anthony wouldn't have it any other way.

Anthony was jerked out of his musings by small black-haired boy bowling into his arms, flailing feet thankfully missing the empty china cup on the coffee table, yelling "Daddy! Dad, I get to go to school today, right?"

* * *

"Do you see them?" Matthew asked, head swinging around wildly as he clutched his father's hand. A crowd milled around them, older children greeting each other after the summer, parents bidding their children farewell—Matthew squinted at them all through his thick lenses.

"Not yet," Anthony said patiently, reigning in his amusement. They were waiting with their backs to a high cement wall—taller than Matthew, but not nearly as tall as Anthony—that bordered a raised garden in front of the brick school. Anthony was fairly sure the school itself was named after one of the US Presidents, but he'd already forgotten which one.

Matthew was not patient. "Well when are they going to be here? What if they're late?" he huffed. "They'd better not be late."

"We're early," Anthony reminded his son. Said son turned to him, a small hand brushing the hair out of his face as he squinted up at his father. Anthony winced internally; odd as it was (and no professional could find anything wrong), the odd lightning bolt cut in Matthew's forehead hadn't faded since that stormy November morning on Privet Drive. Oh, it had stopped bleeding when it was supposed to, but it still looked as irritated and inflamed as the day he'd received it. Matthew claimed it never hurt, but Anthony had walked in on his son, pale and clammy, moaning in his sleep and grasping at his forehead. "Listen," Anthony redirected quickly, "I think I hear Ms. Kirsten."

And so he had. She was running down a checklist of school supplies with Ro, slightly louder than she might have otherwise. The adults had decided that, since Matthew's eyesight didn't seem like it would be improving any time soon, they should start helping him adjust to using his other senses just as much. Matthew's head tilted slightly, and his face brightened as he caught the voices of his best friend and her mother.

"Ro!" Matthew called excitedly.

"Matthew! Mom, there they are!" Ro yelled in the same tone, grasping Kirsten's hand and pulling them over. "Hi Matthew! Hi Mr. Anthony!"

Anthony managed to get in a quick "Hello, Ro," before the children were absorbed in their own chatter. "Kirsten," he nodded, smirking.

"Hi, Anthony," Kirsten said with a laugh. "Ro's been talking my ear off all morning about how she gets lunch recess with Matthew."

"I've been getting a lot of the same," Anthony said, glancing at the children. "Shall we head inside, or give them a few more moments? I know Ro's been excited to show Matthew to his classroom."

"We can go in. But first," Kirsten pulled out a Polaroid camera, "pictures! You two, stand together, alright? Smile, it's the first day of school!" The children immediately turned, throwing their arms around each other and grinning. Ro was missing a couple teeth, and had a couple others growing in—Matthew was eagerly awaiting his first loose tooth. Kirsten grabbed the newly-snapped photo and handed it to Anthony. "Alright, now a silly one!"

Several pictures later found them inside, Ro pulling Matthew by the hand and chattering about their surroundings while Anthony and Kirsten followed at a more sedate pace.

"Ms. Frasier!" Ro exclaimed, dragging her friend through the propped-open door.

"Ro!" a woman, presumably the teacher, said, offering a parting smile to the couple she had been talking to. They appeared to be consoling their dark-skinned son, who had sunk into his chair behind his tiny desk. "What are you doing in my classroom, young lady? I thought you were a big first grader now!"

Ro giggled, and shoved Matthew forward. "My friend's gonna be in your class!" she told the teacher.

Ms. Frasier looked to be in her forties, had long, permed hair, and wore a bright red blazer over a frilly blouse. She smiled indulgently down at the children. "This wouldn't be the famous Matthew, now would it?"

Anthony felt his lips twitching as Matthew gave an uncharacteristically shy smile. It had to be the school setting, he decided; both children were wont to talk cheerfully with strangers on the bus, or at the park, but Kirsten had recounted a similar reaction to Matthew's on Ro's first day of kindergarten. Not that such a reaction from the girl was apparent now—Ro was practically beaming between her best friend and her former teacher.

Ms. Frasier skillfully sent Ro to help Matthew find the desk with his name on it—large nametags, bordered with pencils and apples and other school-related things, taped cleanly to the tops of the desks. Kirsten trailed after the pair, leaving Anthony to talk to his son's new teacher.

"She talked about him so much last year," Ms. Frasier said fondly after introductions, watching the two. "It got to the point where I was really excited to find his name on my class list."

"They've known each other for—oh, I don't know—three years? Matthew was nearly two when they met."

"She mentioned that he has eye trouble?" Ms. Frasier turned her attention more fully to Anthony. "She came to class incredibly upset one day last year. She was afraid he'd never learn how to read… Of course, I calmed her fears immediately, but she was distraught."

"I remember that. It was the day after an appointment with a specialist, no one had realized that she'd taken it so hard—but she came to our house after school talking about magnifiers and Braille—thank you, by the way." Ms. Frasier waved off his thanks, and both waved goodbye to Ro and Kirsten as they went to find Ro's new classroom. Anthony glanced over at Matthew, but he seemed focused on stowing his supplies in his new desk.

"It's part of my job, really. Now, I've been told that he's going to have an aide, which will be new for both of us, but I'm sure it will work out fine. Is there anything in particular I need to know? Anything you need to tell me to calm your mind—oh, it's alright, I've been doing this for a while. The first kid's always the hardest to send off, I think, even knowing you'll get them back at the end of the day."

"I nearly held him back a year," Anthony confessed quietly. "His eyes—but he's definitely ready for school. I know that his nanny plays educational games with him, and has been teaching him bits of Spanish for years. He's also—well, I adopted him before he was two years old. He knows, and Ro, but I'm not sure if it'll become a problem with the other kids." Ms. Frasier nodded, and smiled reassuringly.

"I'll take care of any problems that arise." She paused, and seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing over to his wild-haired boy. "That cut on his forehead…"

"It's been like that since he got it," Anthony quickly explained. "No one can figure out why it's still so…vivid, but his doctors have decided that we'll just leave it be for now."

The teacher's lips pursed, but she nodded in acceptance. "So long as it isn't hurting him. Now," she clapped, turning to Matthew and the boy they'd seen when they came in, "Matthew, this young man sitting behind you is Aiden. Aiden, this is Matthew; why don't you start out by telling each other three things about yourselves, hm?"

Anthony exchanged small smiles with Aiden's parents as the two boys started tentatively talking about ages and hobbies and favourite colours. More children were arriving with their parents, but soon a heavyset man with light, stringy brown hair, appearing to be in his late thirties, walked in alone. Anthony recognized him immediately.

"Joe," he called. The man walked over, grinning.

"Anthony, good to see you," he said with a British accent that Anthony found oddly comforting. This seemed to be stressing him out more than it was his son. "And this must be Matthew!" Said boy squinted up at the adults.

"Matthew, this is Joseph Cracknell, he's going to help you with classwork when your eyes make it hard to do it," Anthony explained, crouching down. Joe did the same, with slightly more difficulty.

"You can call me Joe," the man said kindly. "I'm sure we'll have a great old time, yeah?"

* * *

Apparently "great old time" meant Joe requesting a private meeting with Anthony the first weekend off. Anthony, even more nervous than he'd been leaving his son at school that first morning, arranged for Manny to take Matthew out to an early dinner that night—and Manny had apparently roped Kirsten and Ro into the plan—so that Anthony could entertain Joe at home.

As it turned out, the meeting was a product of sheer luck, and one that the entire group who had gone out to Burger King (of all places) plus Cal should have been attending.

After Anthony had set the tea and biscuits on the table, Joe had taken a moment to fidget with his cup before starting to speak.

"So, I'd just like to start out by saying that Matthew isn't in trouble," he began.

"You did mention that on the phone; you might start making me believe that he is," Anthony jabbed good-naturedly. Joe chuckled.

"Yes, well, forgive me. It's just…this is going to sound a little bizarre, but I'm going to need you to bear with me."

"Believe me, I've learned to keep an open mind." Joe gave him a piercing stare.

"I'd imagine you have," he said finally. "Perhaps…yes, let's start with that. Have you noticed anything…odd happen around Matthew? Maybe when he's angry, or scared?"

Anthony didn't reply. Instead, he stood up, strode out of the room, and returned with Matthew's "magic log," which he slid across the table to his guest as he sat back down. Joe's gaze flicked between Anthony and the notebook as he grabbed it.

"That's three or four years of us "noticing" "odd" occurrences around Matthew," Anthony explained quietly as Joe flipped through the pages. "We also have one for Matthew's friend. She's a year above him. Are you a wizard?"

It had taken a lot of nerve for Anthony to ask that question, but he was rewarded by a startled look on Joe's face—not one that questioned his sanity, but one that wondered where the _hell _he'd learned that word.

"I'm a squib," Joe finally responded, after appearing to weigh his options. He didn't know how much Anthony knew, but it was apparent that he knew something.

"I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that term."

"My father was a wizard. I'm not." Joe sounded slightly bitter, but also resigned. "He and mum divorced over it; she's a muggle—someone without magic, like yourself."

This time it was Anthony's turn to weigh his options, and he decided to take a risk. This time he murmured "I'll be right back," before going to his bedroom, unlocking the lock box, and pulling out the parchment letter.

"I found Matthew on my doorstep when he was little over a year old," Anthony explained when he sat back down, keeping the letter clasped firmly in his hands. Joe's eyes were glued to it, as though he somehow knew its significance. "He was soaked through from a storm and he had a great bleeding cut on his forehead, and this letter that was somehow dry."

He tentatively passed said letter over to his companion, whose eyebrows raised in astonishment the further he'd read. "This—" He wet his lips, then started again. "I don't know much about what's written here, but…Albus Dumbledore is a very important man. Headmaster of the UK's premier magic school, heavily involved in politics, known for defeating one of the greatest dark wizards of the age."

"Not this Lord Voldemort fellow," Anthony clarified.

"Oh, no, that seems to be your boy. That is—Matthew is Harry Potter?" Anthony gave a curt nod, and Joe hurriedly continued. "It was Grindy—Grindle—somethingorother. Something foreign, anyway. I've never heard of this 'Lord Voldemort' character, but that's not saying much, I left the wizarding world after my parents divorced. The Killing Curse…that rings a bell. Highly illegal…though, I don't think people usually survive it…"

"That does seem to be the point of the curse," Anthony agreed sardonically, causing Joe to smile in embarrassment.

"Anyway, I'm not surprised they want him to come to Hogwarts when he's old enough. It sounds like Harry Potter's a bit of a big shot, surviving an unsurvivable spell and apparently killing a dark lord at, what did you say, one? And this implies that his parents went there as well—the British wizarding world at least is very big on tradition." Joe's eyes slid off of the letter and onto some point beyond Anthony. "I could… My mum keeps an owl, I think. It's how wizards communicate. I could see if she could send something off to someone—make some inquiries, maybe get you some help." Anthony bit his tongue.

These were more answers than he'd ever hoped for. Assuming everything Joe said was true—and really, he had no reason not to believe him—things surrounding his son were too big for him to deal with himself. Help…both to teach Matthew and Ro, and to help him keep his son safe. And maybe, just maybe, the wizards could help Matthew's eyes…

"Alright," he agreed slowly. "But it has to be discreet. I don't want some—some wizard news paper getting a hold of this, assuming Matthew's as big a figure in that world as you say he might be."

"Definitely discreet," said Joe. "Assuming Matthew's as big a figure as I say he might be, the Prophet would have a field day if they got a hold of this, if they're anything like they used to be."


End file.
